Apologies
by Emily-Of-Midgard
Summary: Because if you use something so many times, it has your mark on it. Little ficlets smushed into a oneshot, all about Apollo and some lovers/children.


Artemis had never been one for playing with dolls. She had always seen them as costly trinkets that played no role in her world; she never had the time to play anyhow.

Apollo wonders where that has gone as she kneels over the doll-like body of the broken great hunter. If he was a doll he would be broken beyond repair, his arms were twisted behind his back and his neck was twisted at an impossible angle. The arrow that had sunk so deep into his chest it had started to poke out the other side was covered in dry blood, and his face had a look of horror that the woman he loved had just shot him. There was no doubt about it: Orion was dead. By Artemis' hands, tricked by an overprotective Apollo.

Orion was dead, but Artemis continued to play doll with him: fixed his hair, pulled the arrow out, causing more blood to leak onto her already ruined silver dress, and pressed her forehead to his, whispering the Ancient rights. His body shimmered away into crystal like shards and floated into the sky, forming the constellation. He would join Artemis in the sky forever.

She turned slowly towards him, a look of utter grief and utter _hatred _in her eyes. Apollo stepped back, afraid of his twin.

"I'm sorry, Arty. I am so sorry."

* * *

Apollo had fallen to his knees that day in the waters of that god forsaken river and wept.

The laurel tree that had been a beautiful nymph named Daphne, who had stolen his heart with her hair the same color of the red earth in the stream her tree was beside now. Her eyes were bright green, and they had narrowed in disgust at Apollo, such was the power of Eros' lead arrows. He wanted nothing more than to hold Daphne in his arms for eternity but the Fates were feeling unkind to Apollo that day. She had fled from him, running so fast she looked like she was flying. Apollo heard her jump out of the brush and cry out to her father, a river god: "Dear father, please do not let the son of Zeus get me! Oh gods above, help me!" She screamed this to the sky above, and Apollo got close enough to hear her cries suddenly stop. Fearing the worse, he broke through the wood line to see Daphne turn into a laurel tree: forever barred from him.

With a heavy heart, he broke a branch off from the tree and placed it in his golden hair. He patted the tree bark and started to sob.

"I am so sorry Daphne. I will love you forever."

* * *

His name had been Hyacinth, and he had been a brave and handsome prince, what else was expected from a Spartan? Apollo had spied him from above, after the merger with Hyperion and had not lusted for him like he usually did, but actually took the time to get to know the man. He had loved Hyacinth, oh Zeus above, he had loved him. They had spent their days hunting and sparing and nights together, wrapped in each other's arms.

It was all Zephyrus' fault! He had gotten jealous of his and Hyacinth's relationship and conspired against them. When they were practicing throwing the discus, Zephyrus blew one of course, hitting his brave Hyacinth in the head. Apollo knew that he should have taken consolation in the fact he died instantly, but he had still hunted Zephyrus down and made him feel his wrath for the next thousand years. When he had returned, he had made flowers, the Hyacinth, from the blood that had soaked the dirty earth. A small tribute to his love, but people put flowers on one's grave when somebody dies, do they not? Apollo just made his a bit longer lasting.

He had floated over the funeral pyre and wept, and the tears stained the Hyacinths forever.

"I'm sorry, Hyacinth, I am so sorry."

* * *

Maggie was a shy girl he met in a book store. She had large brown eyes that looked away from Apollo when he stroked her face and made her blush. She had light red hair that he liked to tussle and twirl in his hands, and she had not quite full lips that Apollo had loved to kiss and was now begging him to stay.

Maggie had grabbed his leg and stared up at him, sobbing.

"No, you can't leave me. Not like this! I'm going to have your baby, you can't just-!"

"Margret, I have to leave! It's for your own good!" Apollo had never told Maggie who he was, and he knew as he yanked her off his leg and left her, he never would. The monsters after their unborn child would, however, tell him what he was, and he knew he was leaving Maggie a broken woman. Mortals. They got so clingy.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," He said, taking one last look at her sobbing form. "But it's over."

* * *

Sandra had been only ten years old, the daughter of the sun god and a waitress who lived in southern Michigan. She had attended camp during the summer and went home like most of the kids. She liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off like some kids do. She enjoyed music like all children of Apollo did, and might have been an opera singer, or a pop star, as that was her greatest wish. If she wasn't dead with half of his cabin.

She had fought in the war against the Titans and was killed by a stray arrow. Apollo cried for all his children that day, but he really cried for the young ones, like Sandra, who had been killed because of their parent's destinies, and not their own. It wasn't fair, Apollo thinks, staring at all the burning shrouds-_would the endless parade of shrouds for the fire ever stop?-_; Sandra was a good little girl. She listened to her mother, ate her vegetables, practiced her singing and long range weaponry like any daughter of Apollo. Why did she, and Michele Yew, and Lee Fletcher, and so many of his children have to die? It wasn't fair!

He swears right then and there that he will not let this ever happen again. He will care for his many lovers and even more children; he will be a good father.

But promises are easily broken, and apologies easily created, aren't they? Soon he will slip back into his old ways, womanizing and apologizing for broken hearts and broken dreams. He doesn't realize it, but since he has used the words, "I'm sorry," so many times, Apollo has left his mark on them forever.

**Apolo**gizing.

* * *

AN- I don't really know.

Please tell me what you think of this.

~Huntress


End file.
